


Burning Through the Skies

by argyle4eva



Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [19]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Shooting Stars, Singing, ineffable valentines, ineffablevalentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy an evening of astronomical phenomena and musical reminiscing.Written for Mielpetit/mielpetite'sIneffable Valentines prompt list, Day 12 - Love song/Serenade.Once again, I'm posting early, since I don't know if/when I'll have free time tomorrow. I still fail at HTML footnotes, but at least I'm keeping up with the challenge. :)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535606
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Burning Through the Skies

February is normally a quiet month for meteor showers in the Northern Hemisphere, though the few meteors that fall tend to be larger and brighter than usual.*

Crowley, having an inside line on such things, knew all the best nights for viewing shooting stars in advance. When he mentioned an upcoming evening that would be full of exceptional fireballs (and not, for once, overcast), Aziraphale happily seized on it as an excuse for a Picnic and Expedition, despite the season. The yard of Wattle Cottage wasn’t optimally located, and the high fence around it blocked off part of the sky, so they needed to look further afield.

Their chosen site was a nearby hilltop, which had been considered a good vantage point for millennia, given the ancient hill fort on its crown that dated back to the iron age. The ruins were largely gone now, beyond a few odd outlines in the earth, but as was often the case the site had taken on a local reputation for fairy activity, and was left alone, especially at night.

It was a pleasant walk to the hill, even in the cold; there was a fine sunset to enjoy, and both of them were bundled up to stay warm. They could have magicked themselves impervious to the chill, of course, but that was more work than adding an extra scarf and gloves.

They reached the hilltop as the last of the color was fading from the sky, and began setting up. Crowley snapped his fingers and summoned the pile of winter tree and rose prunings from his garden, to start a fire; Aziraphale summoned their lawn furniture (there was no need to be _primitive_ on a country outing, especially where nobody would see), and unpacked the picnic basket. Nothing overly fancy, but a few nibbles for the show – cheese and water biscuits, dates and figs, two thermoses of hot cocoa, and a couple bottles of rich, red wine.

Another finger-snap, and Crowley had his fire kindled. It burned pale, bright, and warm, and would last as long as he wanted it to; the bit of starting fuel provided a useful scaffold for the magic, more than anything else.

As they settled in for the evening, with the crackling fire at their backs, it was all very cozy, and more intimate than one would expect of an open hilltop overlooking the Downs.

“Ah, there!” Crowley pointed, and a bright streak of light flared against the sky, followed quickly by another that was almost as bright. “Looking good.”

Aziraphale nibbled cheese and made a noise of supportive agreement. Crowley enjoyed observing astronomical phenomena, like an artist seeing a painting take shape, or a dramatist watching their story play out as planned.

Crowley reached for his thermos (plain, brushed, stainless steel; Aziraphale’s was blank white enamel; he’d gone off tartan thermoses for the forseeable future), and opened it. He poured a cup of cocoa, and then held it, cradling the warmth. “That’s the opener; there’s a break now, then the show really starts.”

Aziraphale decided cocoa was a good idea, and poured a cup from his own thermos. He took a sip, and commented, “It reminds me a bit of that song.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to be more specific than that,” Crowley told him.

“You know . . .” Unexpectedly, Aziraphale broke into song. He would hum under his breath, when he was in a good mood, but Crowley didn’t think he’d ever heard the angel actually _sing_ before.

The song was also unexpected – from an era when Humanity was just a few generations out of Eden, in a language no longer spoken. In it, the narrator told of counting shooting stars in the night sky while awaiting their lover.

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard that one in a while. I didn’t think it’d be your thing, given how it gets in the later verses.” (Once the narrator’s lover arrived, the song became downright pornographic; Aziraphale wasn't prudish about his own private life, but he tended to like his art and music to be more restrained - or at least on the romantic side.)

Aziraphale _hmph_ ed. “I always thought the first verse was pretty.”

Crowley inhaled steam and sipped his cocoa, as much for the warmth as the taste, though Aziraphale, of course, made excellent cocoa. “Come to that, I didn’t think you were much for singing.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I got out of the habit, I suppose. To me, singing was something one did with others. And it’s difficult around humans – I could never quite sound like I wasn’t, well, you know . . .”

“An angel.”

“Yes. It did tend to stand out, even in a choir.”

“Huh. I got out of the habit, too.” Hell was all about Earthly secular music, of course, and tended to collect musicians, but singing strictly for pleasure wasn’t encouraged among the staff.

He sipped cocoa, and considered. A particular melody had been running through his head all day, as they planned for their evening out. _Why not?_ “I still remember a few things, though.”

Pitching his voice low, because he wasn’t entirely sure of the effect it might have on their surroundings, he sang a few measures older than the world, in a language that no human had ever learned.**

When he stopped, the breeze was still, and the fire had hushed its crackling. Then, after a respectful pause, the small, ambient noises picked up again.

“Oh, I remember that one.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft. “You – the artificers – sang it while you were making stars.”

That _definitely_ surprised Crowley. “I didn’t think you were ever on a construction crew.”

“I wasn’t. I was stuck doing administration though all of it.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the memory, and drank cocoa. “But building things was so interesting, whenever I had a moment, I’d wander over for a look.”

Crowley snorted. “I think that was called _abandoning your post_.” Heaven had been a real stickler about that – Creation was a massive undertaking, so keeping things (and personnel) orderly had been a major goal.

“It was not! I was there whenever they needed me. I just . . . took breaks now and then. When they didn’t need me.”

Crowley snorted again.

Aziraphale snorted back. “Nobody ever noticed, or cared.”

That struck Crowley as unexpectedly sad, though Aziraphale’s tone hadn’t been at all self-pitying. Smug, if anything.

“I wonder if you watched me working?” Crowley said aloud. It was a strange thought, the idea that they might have passed each other, all unknowing, in the time before the War. Before Eden.

“Possibly?” Aziraphale seemed to find the idea equally disconcerting. _Before_ wasn’t something they’d ever spent much time dwelling on. Then, through a mouthful of cocoa, he _mmmph!_ -ed and pointed at the southern sky, where a cluster of bright fireballs were trailing across the darkness.

“There they are, right on time,” Crowley said with satisfaction.

Conversation paused briefly, as they enjoyed the show. When the shooting stars died down, Aziraphale capped his thermos and reached for the bottle of wine.

“There’ll be more. We’ll just have to occupy ourselves in the meantime.” On an impulse, to tweak Aziraphale, Crowley began singing the third verse of the shooting star song, the one where it got _really_ raunchy.

Aziraphale looked annoyed for the first few lines, then took a sip of wine, gave up, and joined in, automatically picking out harmonies to ornament the melody. By the time they reached the chorus, they were both giving it their all, turning a silly, dirty song into something the likes of which had rarely been heard on Earth.

“Wine,” Crowley requested, wiggling his fingers, when they’d run through all the remaining verses. Aziraphale handed him a glass.

“If we need a drinking song,” Aziraphale said, “I’ve always been partial to this one.” He began a song several centuries newer, but still ancient as far as the human world was concerned. Crowley recognized it, and took his turn supplying the harmony.

The evening shaded into night, wine and song passed back and forth by firelight, as falling stars punctuated the darkness with temporary, but vivid, brilliance.

\---

The next day Dan Clarke, who’d been walking home to his farm after a night at the Chipford pub, had a story to tell of passing Bexbury Hill and seeing a pale light flickering at its summit, while the sound of two voices - inhumanly sweet and raised in song - drifted down to him. Naturally, like anyone with half a gram of common sense, Dan kept walking, head down and hands in his pockets, pretending not to notice, until he was safe at home.

Everyone in Chipford had a good idea who’d been on the hill that night, and general consensus was one of grudging approval. After all, if a couple of fancy city entities were going to move into the area, bringing their magic with them, the _least_ they could do was liven the place up with a bit of proper, traditional local color.

What Dan skipped over in his narrative was that both voices, though supernaturally beautiful, had sounded more than a bit tipsy, and the song they were singing was, beyond any doubt, Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

There are some facts you can’t let get in the way of a good story, after all.

*This is actually a thing; I looked it up. <https://www.amsmeteors.org/2020/02/meteor-activity-outlook-for-february-01-07-2020/>

** Not even you, John Dee.


End file.
